Roomies - Christina Lauren Page 0,92

and a whispered “What in the world . . . ?”

“Robert and Jeff,” Lulu calls, loud enough for me to hear, “let me take your coats.”

There’s some commotion and then Calvin bends down, his voice suddenly close. “What in the bloody hell are you doing?”

“I was going to surprise you with a blow job!” I whisper-yell.

“Oh my fuck. I was going to surprise—heeeeey.” He sits back up, and spreads his legs a little so I can shimmy closer as Robert and Jeff slide into the booth.

Robert’s knee is less than six inches from my arm. Oh my God, this is a disaster. Why didn’t Lulu take them on a tour of the . . . room or something? Why didn’t she seat them somewhere else?

The only saving grace here is the enormous booth. I curl my knees up, leaning into Calvin’s hand when he slides it reassuringly beneath the table. As carefully as I can, I pull my phone out, quickly dim my screen, and open my texts.

Lulu has already texted me.

What the fuuuuuuuuuuuck?

Why did you seat them???

There aren’t other tables, and Calvin knew you’d made a reservation. Fuck I screwed up. I’VE NEVER DONE THIS SORT OF THING BEFORE AND I PANICKED

WHAT AM I GOING TO DO???

It’s hot under here and I’m starting to feel a little dizzy—am I just rebreathing the same air and possibly suffocating?

Just climb out, what are they going to say?

I close my eyes, banging my head silently against Calvin’s knee.

“Where is she?” Robert asks, and within a few seconds, another text pops up on my screen from him.

Where are you?

Running late. Go ahead and order.

“She said she’s running late,” Robert tells them. “Should we order for her?”

“I imagine she’d like the venison sausage,” Calvin says. I pinch his leg and he coughs, reaching down and grabbing my boob.

“She doesn’t like venison,” Jeff mutters absently.

“No,” Robert argues, “it’s elk she doesn’t like.”

“I’ll ask her,” Calvin says, and soon another text pops up on my screen.

Would you like the venison or the grass-fed lamb? Also, I am going to fuck you so hard later. You are a hero to men for even thinking of doing this.

The lamb. Should I just come out?

I think that would be bloody fantastic

Should I warn them?

Above the table, Calvin laughs.

“What?” Jeff asks. I imagine him looking up from the menu, lowering his reading glasses and gazing innocently at Calvin across the table.

“I think you’ll see in a minute.” I can hear his grin when he puts the saucy emphasis on tink.

Jeff’s legs twist slightly, as if he’s turning to look behind him at the door to the street. “Is she here?”

I sigh, texting him and Robert in a shared window.

I’m already here.

Where? I don’t see you. We’re in the back booth.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I’m under the table.

“What the hell?” Jeff bends, lifting the tablecloth. His eyes go saucer-wide when he sees me, and Calvin bursts out laughing.

With a groan, I climb out, sliding onto the curved booth between Robert and Calvin. “I was going to surprise him! I didn’t know you’d be coming along.”

“Surprise—? Oh my God.” Jeff bends, putting his forehead to his palm. “Holland.”

I hold up my hand and stare with great intensity at the menu. “I don’t ever want to discuss this again.”

“I should honestly never try to do something sexy and impulsive.”

Calvin pulls me down onto the bed, digging tickling fingers into my sides. “I will never forget this.”

“Blow job fail.”

“It’s a very good reason for a blow job to fail. I would have had a hard time performing, I fear.”

I groan. “I can’t even contemplate that.”

He laughs into my stomach, kissing as he pushes up my shirt. “It was a nice thought for a birthday gift.”

“There are more surprises to come.”

And no matter how hard he tries to get the secret out of me—no matter how much he makes good on the promise to fuck me hard in gratitude—I hold strong.

twenty-five

I remember coming to New York for the first time at sixteen to visit Robert and Jeff. I landed at the airport, and although Jeff had planned to meet me at JFK, he was held up with some work emergency, and instead texted me directions to the AirTrain, and then the subway, and then the walk to their apartment, where he would meet me.

It sounded simple, but that was before I had the true scale of New York bearing down on my Des Moines naiveté. It wasn’t just the number of people and the number of signs, it was